


Heart of the Storm

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Adra Bán [14]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-01 22:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16774630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: She gave him no reply, not even a word. Why did he even ask her? It was not your decision to make, foolish woman, she thinks angrily, bitterly. He could not refuse, she knew that... He could not refuse his god anymore than she could refuse the laws of her clan.There is a faint rustle of leaves, and Tegwen turns, ready to attack. All she can see is a ray of sunlight falling through the tree crowns, nothing unusual in the woods. And then a ghostly shape of a man steps out of the light and towards her.





	Heart of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> (Prompt: 'things you said that i wish you hadn’t'; this one is from a writing meme.)

He expected shouting, hands curling into fists to punch him, maybe a knife thrown over his shoulder or inches from his face at a tree. Something sudden and violent, but not destructive.

Tegwen does not shout, does not yell curses at him. Does not even draw her knife. She just twitches her ears and then simply shapeshifts into a stelgaer and runs off into the woods, sparks of electricity crackling from her eyes and across the dark fur on her back.

Invar slumps down and leans against a tree with a heavy sigh. He should have told her earlier. He should have asked her. He should have... how could he refuse his god? How could he refuse to heal someone wounded? Even Tegwen, who could be harsh like life in the Wild that Wends, as all those raised in Eir Glanfath, would not have demanded that of him. Not when she herself was exiled for having helped a wounded man.

He smiles at the memory of a wild stelgaer, ready to kill its prey, jumping at him and turning into an elf mid-air. He remembers the cloud of dark hair, eyes sharp like adra daggers, and the expression on her face as she notched an arrow... and halted.

Invar shakes his head. He would like to go after her, but there is no point. No one would be able to find Tegwen if she did not wish to be found, and it was apparent she wanted to be alone. Or away from him, at least.

He can do nothing but wait. He will tell her the rest of it when she returns.

* * *

Tegwen runs. With no destination in mind, not paying attention to the patchwork of smells Dyrwood forests are, looking ahead but seeing nothing.

She gave him no reply, not even a word. Why did he even ask her? It was not your decision to make, foolish woman, she thinks angrily, bitterly. That what she got for associating with an estramor. Trouble, that’s all they are good at. Trouble.

A memory flashes in her mind; a night at a glade on the border of the forest and some Engwithan ruins too decayed for even Glanfathans to care, a bed of leaves and grass under a canopy of the stars, warm arms and warm kisses, tender and patient, something she was so very much not used to, and how for a moment he made her see sunlight even if the whole world around them was dark.

She slows down, and eventually stops completely.

Some people from her old clan would say he has tamed her. The old ovate might have said he has taught her wisdom. Both would be wrong.

Tegwen thinks, on those rare moments she is pensive, that he has taught her life. Before, she knew how to hunt, to fight, to see what was hidden, to guard, to care, how to be a daughter and a sister, a cousin and a clansmate, a friend and a rival, and occasionally a lover. With him, she discovered how to be less and yet more than herself.

She closes her eyes, claws digging into the dirt and rotting leaves.

He could not refuse, she knew that... He could not refuse his god anymore than she could refuse the laws of her clan. Deep in her heart, she still believes she followed them, to the soul, if not to the letter. She should have killed him, but if Galawain had let him live through the Purges, it meant he was supposed to live, and she followed that. If Wael had let him to the ruins, it meant that particular mystery was to be revealed, and she followed that. She recognised the symbols on his robe, and even though Eothas was dead and had no shrine in Twin Elms, only a fool would not realise no forest would grow without sunlight, and no small animals would live without plants to feed them, and no predators would live without small animals to hunt. The forest lived by Galawains’ laws, it would have never come to be without Eothas. And, despite what the estramorwn believed, the rîow of Eir Glanfath – and every person with some common sense - knew that Eothas needed no shrine but those he had grown himself.

There is a faint rustle of leaves, and Tegwen turns, ready to attack. All she can see is a ray of sunlight falling through the tree crowns, nothing unusual in the woods. And then a ghostly shape of a man steps out of the light and towards her.

Tegwen shapeshifts back into her elven form. “You,” she barks through her teeth, even as her knees start to bend, as if of their own volition. She stops them.

As the apparition steps forward, the light becomes flesh. When Eothas stops in front of her, he looks much like a mortal man – if he walked into any inn in Dyrwood, he would fool everyone and seamlessly blend in among the farmers

“I am sorry, Tegwen,” he says simply. “But he has promised me nothing yet. Just said he would agree, but not without telling you first. I would have not accepted his oath without letting him think on it first.”

“Is that what you told Waidwen?” Tegwen spits back bitterly.

A corner of Eothas’ lips curves up. “Invar was right. Your bites never miss their mark.” The smile is gone as swiftly as it appeared, as if it was nothing but a trick of light. “No, that is not what I told Waidwen. The questions were different, then, as were the answers, both his and mine.” For a moment, Eothas is silent. His eyes are bright like twin stars, and Tegwen could swear she saw the third star gleaming over his forehead. “Gods learn too, rî. As do people. As have you.”

Tegwen has no reply to that. Yes, once she might have killed Invar without a second thought. It was close enough when they met. There is a brief hot surge of shame, and then anger melts into understanding.

“He will not refuse you,” she says quietly. “I will not refuse you.” Finally, she kneels, slowly, not without hesitation, but without resentment, either. She has served different gods in different measures, taking what she needed from then in exchange for her faithful service, and that arrangement seemed to be satisfactory for all parties. Perhaps she simply has not met a god who would understand her failings so well.. because he shared them. Not until now.

Hands, warm like sunlight in the first moment, but hot like fire in the next, almost scalding even through her armour, touch her shoulders.

“Rise, rî. You need not kneel.”

Eothas helps her get up, withdrawing his hand before they burn her. Tegwen looks into his eyes.

“Will you take him from me?” she asks.

“No.” The soft halo shimmers as he shakes his head. “I will keep him for you, Tegwen. For the years of service he offered me, I will grant him years of life. So than when you go, you go together.”

For the first time since so long ago she cannot even remember, Tegwen feels tears prickling at her eyes.

“I... He didn’t mention that.”

Eothas smiles. “Might have something to do with you changing into a stelgaer and running off into the woods before he could finish the sentence.”

Tegwen snorts. Wipes the tears away with the back of her hand.

Eothas reaches out towards her palm, without touching, and the tears evaporate in the heat.

“Thank you, rî, for your offering,” he says solemnly, and bows his head.

“Why do you keep calling me that? I’m just a hunter. Gifted with magic and wit, but that’s not enough.”

“Wisdom is in small things, my fierce druid. And your eyes see all, even the smallest things.”

* * *

When Tegwen returns, in her usual slender elven form, she walks straight up to him, pins him against a tree and kisses him breathless. By now, Invar knows better than try to make sense of it. It is just how she is, unpredictable like a storm, and equally fierce. One of many things he loves her for.

“Next time you tell me something like that, I’m going to bite your head off,” Tegwen pants as she pulls away. “I thought you were just going to... like Waidwen,” she finished, and her eyes darken.

“Not quite. Not...”

“Oh, now you want to explain? No thank you, I already know everything.”

She tries to slip from his embrace, but he hold her tightly and does not let go.

“I’ve been carrying shards of him in me ever since you found me in the ruins,” he explains softly. “It’s not going to be very different. Not like Waidwen. Just going where he will need me to go and tend to the plants and weeds.”

Tegwen arches an eyebrow. “You don’t tends to weeds, you pull them up.”

“Might have gotten it wrong,” Invar agrees. “I’m not a farmer. Listen, Tegwen, if you...”

“You listen. We will talk later. Because I think I’ll need patience for this, and now I have very little patience, because...” her voice breaks mid-sentence, and she wraps her arms around him tightly, hiding her face in his neck. Something hot and wet trickles down his skin – she is crying. “I thought he would take you away. That I would lose you.” Her fingers tighten in his hair to the point it hurts. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, fool. Never, understand?”

“That’s why I said yes.” He breaths in the smell of her hair – leaves and pines and wind and fur. “So that I could be with you.” Then his lips seek hers and he kisses her, sealing a silent oath in a way she will understand better than any words.


End file.
